Pictures of You
by Frankie Beeblebrox
Summary: All pictures bring back memories, but some more than others. Based on the song of the same name by The Cure. Please read and review!


"I've been looking so long at these pictures of you   
  
That I almost believe that they're real   
  
I've been living so long with my pictures of you   
  
That I almost believe that the pictures are   
  
All I can feel"   
  
~Pictures of You by The Cure   
  
**************************************************************   
  
It was autumn. You could tell by the color of the leaves on the trees and the slight sheen of frost visible on the windows. You could also tell by the clothing she wore. The cloak she had on was blowing in the chilly breeze, but she didn't seem to mind. She was laughing at something unseen in front of her, her auburn hair whipping around her face, her evergreen eyes crinkled in laughter. Every inch of her body was smiling, laughing at the unknown quantity in front of her.   
  
She was heart wrenchingly beautiful.   
  
It was an odd picture. From one of those Muggle contraptions that her mum had sent her. It didn't do anything. Couldn't move like a normal photo, didn't talk like a portrait in the castle. It simply existed. It just was.   
  
When had he gotten this? He could hardly remember any more, but he knew it was at least 20 years ago. They had been acquaintances, then. Perhaps even friends, he let himself believe. Odd, that. They really hadn't much in common.   
  
They met in charms classes during first year. He almost laughed at the memory of that first lesson he noticed her, when she had outshone the rest of the class so easily. He had accidentally banished a cushion out the window, and she had caught it in mid-air, halfway down the castle wall. She was brilliant at charms. He was utterly abysmal, and everyone knew it. She had cornered him outside in the hall after the lesson and offered her help, in exchange for his help in potions. Not that she had really needed it, he reflected. There wasn't anything she was particularly bad at.   
  
"Hmmmmm. Almost like Granger. Almost."   
  
They were prefects together. She for Gryffindor, of course, but they ended up working quite frequently together. She was always nice to him, no matter what happened. Truthfully, she had always been nice to everyone, but he had noticed her kindnesses more than anyone else. He had never been a very popular student outside of Slytherin, but she always made sure to smile at him in the halls, to say hello in the Great Hall. She had even gotten him a Christmas gift, once. A set of crystal vials for his potions set.   
  
He still had them.   
  
Never used, they sat on his desk in his office. He had placed a charm she had taught him on them to keep the dust off. . .she would have laughed about the irony of that. . . but they had never been touched after that morning. It was really a shame, and he knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to use them. He couldn't stand to sully them with his hands.   
  
God, he missed her. She was one of the few people who had liked him for who he truly was. He was able to be himself around her, able to drop the mask he wore for everyone else when they were together, and she hadn't run in terror from him. She didn't even bat an eyelash.   
  
When he decided to leave the services of the Dark Lord, she had been the first he had sought out. He still didn't know why he had come to her, but it seemed. . . safe. She wouldn't judge him, like the others. She wouldn't question his motivations. She would just accept him for who he was, just as she always had.   
  
In the end, it didn't matter who she had married, or what he had become. She still accepted him with open arms when he came back to the fold. Brought him to Dumbledore in secret and even vouched for his honesty and integrity. It was as if he had never betrayed them. Never betrayed her.   
  
She was one of the reasons he had come back. Not because he was in love with her, as her fool husband had thought for years. Not because she held some sort of sway over his welfare, as Black had asserted many times.   
  
He had come back because she was his friend. He didn't have many of those, and those he did he protected with a fierceness few would believe. He loved her more than he could say, and he missed her dearly.   
  
So he had taken the post of watching her son from afar on her behalf. No one had asked him to do it, and the boy was so much like his father that it sickened him, but he had to do it. Occasionally he would catch the glimpses of Lily in between. That was usually enough.   
  
Occasionally, though, he had to come down here and remind himself why he was still doing this. Why he was risking his life for people who would never appreciate it. People who would never know his name, and never miss him if he left. So he brought out the album, looked at the last page. Looked at this picture of her, the only one he had.   
  
This effort was for himself, but also for Lily. His friend, Lily.   
  
He still liked the sound of that. 


End file.
